How to Spend Eternity
by graceofnight
Summary: A series of oneshots based on the Austrian musical Tanz der Vampire and the 1967 film Fearless Vampire Killers.
1. Forever and a Day

A/N: These will pertain both to the Austrian musical and the 1967 film. None of these will follow the Broadway version unless stated otherwise, because, frankly it wasn't nearly as good as the other two. The oneshots will be relatively chronological but mostly unconnected. The following story takes picks up right where the film/musical left off.

**Forever and a Day**

"Professor, where are we going?" Alfred asked for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"Professor?"

No answer.

Alfred slumped in his seat and pouted. He didn't have to look pitiful for long, for within half an hour, Professor Abronsius drove the sled into a small village not unlike the one they had just fled. The conveyance came to a stop in front of one of the quaint little buildings, in front of which hung a sign indicating that the place was an inn. Alfred breathed out a fog of relief when Professor Abronsius hopped onto the ground; he had truly hoped the Professor hadn't frozen over again. The Professor helped Sarah out the sled and left Alfred to take care of himself. There were no bags to deal with now, so Alfred just shuffled along behind them, realizing he would be wearing these ridiculous evening clothes for a while.

"Come," the Professor said, "We shall stay here tonight. We will regroup and ready the counterattack. With the power of logic, we will prevail!"

With this pronouncement he pointed an academic finger toward the sky and Alfred sighed. He had hoped that he wouldn't be forced back to the castle again. Perhaps, while the Professor was sleeping the next day, he and Sarah could make a run for it.

The inn was deserted, except for the groggy owner, whose dark eyes glared at them from white sleep-tousled hair. As the Professor secured them lodgings, Alfred could not help but feel a little saddened for the sleepy villagers, whose quiet world would soon be turned on its end, for surely the Count and his flock would follow them here. Of course, he also wanted to feast upon their blood. Twice he attempted to wander off into one of the bedrooms, only to be restrained by Sarah, who gripped his arm fervently and said, "Not yet, Liebling!"

He would then slump his shoulders and pout some more. As Alfred wandered aimlessly about the room, he felt his limbs grow limp and his body sag heavily. He felt frightfully weak and longed for a bed. Sleepiness made him near-delirious, almost wishing to be back in his room at the castle, with its feathery, dust-encrusted pillows. Why was the Professor taking so long? Alfred stifled a yawn with his wrist as the older man returned.

"Come my boy, he wants to show us our-"

As Alfred managed to chase the yawn away, he realized the Professor's watery blue eyes were searching him intently, locked onto Alfred's increasingly confused face. Then, the boy blanched as realization spread over him like cold water. The Professor had seen his fangs.

"Junge...did you...?" The Professor was scrutinizing Alfred deeply now, and the boy began to squirm under the sharp gaze. He was suddenly very aware of what it felt like to go through life as a lab rat.

"You are..." said the Professor. His eyes suddenly roved over to Sarah. "Both of you! So, I see he did turn you in the end, my dear. Well then..."

The Professor's eyes were slowly developing that look that Alfred had grown painfully familiar with, the look that said a plan was evolving in the scientist's mind, a plan of action. The Professor suddenly darted to his bag and began rummaging frantically through it. Alfred felt his arms creep across his chest to protect his heart from any sharp objects seeking to force their way past his breastbone.

"Delightful!" declared the Professor. "A live specimen would aid my research immensely. If you would be so good child, I'll just..."

Glass in hand and an excited gleam in his eyes, the Professor made his way toward Sarah, but a flash of fangs accompanied by an irritable hiss made his alter his course toward Alfred.

"Come Junge, into the light," he said.

Alfred did as he was told and stood obediently still as the Professor examined his teeth with a glass. Abronsius made some quiet exclamations and took out a tiny book to jot down his own notes. He then carefully inspected the mark of Sarah's bite on the boy's throat. "Ah, she has drained you fast, eh Junge?"

As he took out a fob watch and took Alfred's pulse, the Professor's eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

"Interesting. Very interesting, my boy," he said without explaining what was so interesting. Alfred submitted to the Professor's examination with his usual obedience while Sarah sat with her arms crossed defiantly. She made a sudden angry huffing noise and stomped into the adjoining room. Alfred watched her leave and then looked at the Professor. The scientist was still feverishly jotting down notes in his book, so Alfred took advantage of the distraction and shuffled after Sarah. He began to hear a strange creaking of furniture as he approached, and by the time he reached her, Sarah had managed to shove the bed into the corner of the room, and had begun working on moving the dresser toward the corner as well.

"Sarah, what are you doing?"

As he was beginning to expect, he got no answer from Sarah. She wouldn't explain exactly what she was doing, but she didn't seem to want his help either. So Alfred sat in a chair with his head in his hands.

After a few minutes, he became bored with his sulking and padded into the tavern. The Professor had vanished, so he had been sitting in the dark, vacant tavern for some minutes when a sudden loud banging on the door sent Alfred jumping a foot in the air. He clutched his chest, more out of habit that anything else. Heart fluttering weakly, Alfred stood and made his way hesitantly toward the door. Before he even reached his hand out to open it, the door burst open.

Standing before him, still in his evening attire, was Herbert von Krolock. Moonlight beamed off his pale face, upon which was written a look of deep concern. Alfred took a step back and began to whimper in terror. Herbert stepped over the threshold with an outstretched hand.

As the Count's son advanced, Alfred recovered his senses to do the best thing he could think of.

"PROFESSOR!"

Herbert von Krolock glided through the door in one stride. He made to grab Alfred by the shoulders, but the newborn vampire slipped from him and backed further into the tavern.

"Professor! Come quickly!"

Alfred's words slurred together as he tried to shout around his newly acquired fangs. Herbert von Krolock followed him, attempting to quiet the frantic shouting.

"Alfred, please, settle down now. You will wake the whole village."

"He's here, Professor, come quick! Somebody, pl-"

Alfred yelped as he lost control of his words and sank a fang into his own lip. Herbert immediately stepped forward, concerned.

"Mein Liebchen, you must be more careful!" he scolded. Herbert took a handkerchief from his sleeve and began dabbing the trickle of blood from Alfred lip.

"The three of you ran off so quickly that I did not have a chance to bid you farewell. I thought you might have gotten lost, taken a wrong turn in the forest, possibly run into a pack of werewolves. You mustn't worry me so dreadfully, mein Schatz. There. That's much better, isn't it?"

Herbert put an elegant hand beneath Alfred's chin and tipped it up to look into the boy's face. He uttered an exclamation of dismay.

"How pale you are!" he said. "When was the last time you fed, precious?"

"I've...not...That is..." Alfred stammered. It would occur to Alfred later that his new condition did not seem to surprise the Count's son. For the moment, Alfred could only think that he was quite hungry.

"Come. Sit," Herbert said. Alfred stumbled as arms more powerful than his own pushed him backwards and he was forced into a chair. Herbert pushed the lace cuff of his own sleeve back and ran a long, sharp nailed finger over the delicate skin of his wrist. A trickle of blood began to seep over white skin and Alfred felt himself swallow hard. Long fingers ran themselves gently through his hair, as they had done only hours before and brought his head toward the softly bleeding wrist.

"Drink, mein Engel," Herbert said. Alfred looked at the blood trickling slowly out of the throbbing vein and hesitated. He ran his tongue over his parched lips, but the idea of partaking of the nobleman's blood was far from appetizing. Herbert seemed to sense his reservations.

"Please, Liebling. You are a newly born vampire. You must eat."

Herbert tilted Alfred's head upward and looked into his eyes. His tone was pleading and his face indicated true concern. After a last moment's hesitation, Alfred obeyed and brought his lips to Herbert's wrist.

Blood immediately flooded Alfred's mouth. Iron and red wine woke his palette and washed down his dry throat. He could feel life and energy return to his weary limbs, spreading warmly through his body, and his toes curled in their shoes. Had he stolen a look at Herbert, he would have seen that the youthful aristocrat's eyes were closed and his fingers clenched into fists. Herbert's free hand slid into the arch of the boy's neck and gently entwined itself into soft brown hair. Both men's breaths quickened, simultaneously in pain and satisfaction. Alfred unconsciously allowed his hand to tighten around Herbert's wrist as he found himself savoring the taste of blood, relishing its metallic flavor as it filled his mouth, and enjoying the feeling of warm euphoria that flowed from his throat to his chest and down to fingers and toes as blood poured over his tongue. For the first time, Alfred felt he knew what it was to be satisfied.

"_What_ is this?!"

The female shriek caused Alfred's head to jerk upwards in fright. Sarah stood in the doorway to the bedroom, and Alfred immediately rose to his feet. She was silhouetted against the low candlelight and wore a loose white nightgown, the origins of which Alfred could only guess. Alfred swallowed hard at the sight of her, but the fury in her face was enough to make both men take a step back.

"Between the old goat poking and prodding him and … _this_," she gesticulated wildly at the scene before her, "I have not yet had my turn of him."

"The boy is weak. He needs to feed," Herbert said, putting a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"I can take care of that!"

Herbert began to argue, but Sarah bared her teeth at him and snarled, "He is mine now, so be gone!"

Herbert folded his arms and scowled. His expression was one of supreme disappointment and dissatisfaction. Alfred could do nothing but look bemused as Sarah dragged him into the bedroom and slammed the door.

Inside, he saw that she had pushed all the furniture into one corner, and with the blankets as curtains, had thus fashioned for them a makeshift coffin, that would suffice until they could make other arrangements. As she crawled beneath and yanked him down with her, he couldn't help but think that Sarah had grown quite a bit tetchier since her transformation. Certainly she had seemed in a rather bad mood since they left the castle. He felt it wise to do as she directed, in hopes that she would not turn her ire on him. But when he woke at sundown nestled in Sarah's arms beneath their makeshift coffin, he began to think that eternity no longer looked so bleak.

**The End**


	2. Like Father, Like Son

**Like Father, Like Son**

_-Dedicated to aliciachu. This was her idea. I just put it to paper. _

No moon hung in the sky that night. The heavens were empty, their solitude shared with the noble sentinel who stood beneath them on the castle battlements. Count von Krolock's face was pale and a pair of fangs dipped beneath dark lips.

"Come out of the shadows, my son," he said. "You've nothing to fear."

After a moment, Herbert von Krolock walked slowly to his father's side. His hands were clasped delicately behind his back, but his eyes spoke that he was indeed fearful. He stared at his father's elongate canines for several seconds before wrenching his gaze away. He did not look at them again.

"You have something to say?" said Count von Krolock. Herbert's eyes remained fastened on the stone floor.

"Father," the Count's son began carefully, "you need not face eternity alone."

The Vampire looked over the landscape for many moments before he responded. "Lonely eternity is all that is left for me, my son."

"Nevertheless, the road would seem less lonely with a companion."

"What are you talking about?" Count von Krolock said sharply.

"Please, Father, do not resign yourself to eternal solitude. Make me as you are, and we may walk that path together."

Count von Krolock strode forward and seized his son by the shoulders. "Absolutely not! I have set myself on this inexorable path, but I will not take you with me."

"If you will not turn me, Father, I will find someone who will."

"You would defy me, boy?" said Count von Krolock, tightening his grip on Herbert's arms. Herbert blanched underneath his father's piercing gaze.

"To save you from yourself...yes," he said. The Vampire Count turned away and stared over the wall of mountains forming his vast fortress.

"No one can save me now," he said quietly.

"From your curse, no I cannot. But from an eternity of loneliness, Father please!"

Count von Krolock looked into his son's earnest face and sighed.

"This is truly what you want? Unrelenting hunger, never satisfied, not even the ignorance of death, to walk amongst mankind for all ages, forever! That is what you want?"

Now Herbert looked straight at his father, not even turning away from the granite wall of his stare. The boy's face pleaded resolutely, though his lips did not. Count von Krolock closed his eyes, knowing there would be a hundred thousand times until the end of days that he would regret what he was about to say.

"Very well then, as you wish. But if anyone is to do it, then it will be me and no one else."

"Yes, Father, of course. Thank you."

"Do not thank me. You will live to regret this choice. Forever."

***

"You are certain about this? Once it's done, there is no cure, save a stake through the heart."

Father and son now stood within the castle walls. Count von Krolock gripped Herbert's arms, shaking them slightly. The Count's fangs flickered by the light of the torches and his dark eyes glistened intently.

"I am certain, Father," Herbert said.

The Vampire sighed. He stood behind his only son, his hands on the boy's shoulders. Count von Krolock tilted Herbert's head and swept the soft blonde hair from his neck. His lips brushed the skin momentarily before his fangs sank into the tender flesh. Herbert cried out in pain and jerked in his father's arms, but with every convulsion Count von Krolock held him tighter and would not allow him to escape. The vampire savored the taste as blood flooded his mouth and throat, and a tear slid down his face.

The aftertaste was bitter, and another tear came unbidden. Von Krolock drained the boy dry quickly, and when Herbert lay still in his arms, eyes closed and skin cold, Count von Krolock gently lowered him to the ground. His son's face was now free of all color and the Count kissed his brow. He stood, wiping all residual tears away and left the room.

***

Several minutes and a lifetime later, Count von Krolock gazed out at the blank horizon. The shadows moved, and Herbert stood beside him, running a tongue over his fangs.

"You will grow accustomed to them, my son," Count von Krolock said. He put a long-fingered hand on Herbert's shoulder, and with still hearts and undead eyes, the Count and his son looked upon their unlit realm. And the next night, they joined each other there, as a sliver of the moon rose above the crooked mountainous horizon.


	3. Friends

A/N: This chapter and the one that follows originated from prompts from the Fanfic100. At this point, I have all of the main characters living at Castle von Krolock, which I know makes little to no sense but, please, just go with it.

**Friends**

Alfred looked despondent. He looked despondent, because he felt despondent. His legs were pulled up to his chest and his head rested on his knees. Every breath he took seemed to take the form of a deep self-pitying sigh. Alfred attempted to curl farther into the dark corner he had wedged himself into and inhaled deeply.

He wondered why this was affecting him this way. What did it matter if Sarah would rather spend her time with the Count than with him? When he had casually mentioned the idea of betrothal to her, she had laughed (such a lovely laugh) and said, "Don't be ridiculous! What a silly notion!" What did that matter? He was a scientist, by Heaven! Logic! Reason! These would deliver him from the dark, not these foul womanly emotions.

Alfred let out the breath he was holding. The breath unfortunately came out sounding rather like a sob, and he was caught off guard when a tear managed to leak its way down his face.

"Alfred?"

A local aristocratic voice purred out his name. The young scientist quickly dried his face and turned around. Standing in the doorway, elegantly clothed in deep plum velvet, was Herbert von Krolock. One finely manicured hand rested on his hip, while the other delicately gripped a tarnished candelabrum. Alfred gasped and tried to escape by jumping backwards away from him, but found that the wall rather inconveniently blocked his path.

"What are you doing here, Liebling? Not tasting too heavily of the vintage, I hope? Father would be less than pleased."

Alfred looked around him. The presence of barrels and bottles populating the room alerted him to the fact that, in his distressed haste, he had fled into the wine cellar.

"I – I – I'm sorry." Alfred attempted to shuffle passed Herbert, but the nobleman put out an arm to block the door.

"Don't be sorry, Liebling. I might even prefer you a little tipsy." When Alfred didn't so much as start at this pronouncement, Herbert cupped the boy's chin in his hand and gave him a pitying smile. "What ever is the matter?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all."

"You cannot lie to me, Alfred," Herbert said sternly. Alfred sighed and sat back down on the barrel that his despondence had disguised as a chair.

"It's...it's Sarah....and..."

"My father?"

Alfred nodded pathetically. He felt his shoulders hunch over and he fought the urge to pull all his limbs into him and curl himself into a small, miserable ball. He settled for allowing his face to settle on his palm in a distinct pout. He tried to contain any sighs or sobs that sought to shamefully escape his mouth.

Then, an arm draped itself over his shoulder, as it had done once before. At that time, in Herbert's room, Alfred had been terrified, scared out of his wits. Why wasn't he scared now? Where had the urge to run as fast as he could, as far away as he could get suddenly fled to? Instead, he felt himself leaning into the embrace, allowing the arm to curl warmly around him. He let out a soft whimper, and Herbert rubbed his arm.

As the time Alfred spent in Herbert's arm collected in the bottom of the hourglass, it became clear to Alfred that Herbert did not intend to continue to pursue Alfred's vampiric affections. Perhaps, Alfred thought, rather radically, the count's son wasn't so horrible after all. Maybe, he imagined, he and the nobleman could possibly, conceivably, be friends. Herbert bent down and kissed the top of Alfred's head, and for once, Alfred found he didn't mind.


	4. Enemies

A/N: This chapter was meant to follow the chapter that immediately proceeds it.

**Enemies**

Even with the eyes of a creature of darkness, Sarah still hadn't seen him. Not until he had stepped from the shadows to block her path. She had been skipping down the corridor one minute, images of the Count swirling in her mind, and then he was standing in front of her, the count's son. He was wearing a plum velvet jacket, a bottle green silk cravat, a cream coloured waistcoat and a severe look on his pale, aristocratic face.

"May we speak?" It was an innocent enough question, but the steel that laced his voice and the silver light in his eyes indicated that Sarah would not be allowed to refuse. She nodded.

"Good. Now..."

Without any warning, Sarah found herself trapped between the wall and Herbert von Krolock's form, which was suddenly much taller and formidable than she remembered. A strange light was in his eyes and his canines had grown into fangs which were still quite frightening, despite her new found condition. A low growl came forth from his throat.

"It is a bad enough thing for you to arrest all my father's attention from me. But if you break that boy's heart, you and I will be lifelong enemies. And, I assure you, little girl, that will be a _very long time_."

He whispered this last bit in her ear and Sarah swallowed a mouthful of air. Herbert straightened before her, a grin spread wickedly over his face.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Sarah nodded fervently. Herbert smiled pleasantly, and stood aside, gesturing gentlemanly for her to pass. Sarah took off at a run and within seconds, had disappeared around the corner.

The next night, as Herbert wandered about his father's castle, he passed by a broom cupboard where two young voices were trying, rather unsuccessfully, to giggle quietly.

"Really, Alfred, I have been rather neglecting you lately. I must make it up to you," said one of the voices, a young female.

"That's...not really....necessary," said the other, a young male. Alfred.

"Oh, but it is," said the female voice.

Herbert's face stretched into a wry smile that did not reach his eyes. Perhaps he and the girl would never truly be friends. Herbert sighed and went on his way.


	5. Herbert's Fantasy

**Summary: **While preparing for the Midnight Ball, Herbert allows his mind to wander. Short, sweet, and decidedly slashy, but only in one man's mind.

I dedicate this to my lovely reviewer Dreamsand, who requested more Herbert/Alfred related stories.

* * *

_He struggles as I wrap the ropes around his wrists, eyes wide as I secure the ends, one to each bed post. But his protests are weak, and I know they are just for show. His breath quickens as I undo his tie and pocket it with devilish intent. I take my time opening his immaculate white shirt, and by the time I have his chest bare, his breath comes in pants. I sit back for a moment and relish the sight of him, his face flushed, the cage of his ribs visibly expanding and contracting with each heaving breath as candlelight draws patterns over the pale expanse of his chest. _

_ I rake a finger across the web of skin between two ribs, and he cries out in pain. Blood trickles in a delicate line from the mouth of the wound. I put my lips to his ribs and clean the blood from his white skin. My tongue follows the line to its source and teases about in the wound like a Frenchman's kiss. I suck at the gap with avarice, his soft moans lending might to my fervor. My hands wander southward and it is just a matter of moments before I shall–_

"**My lord?!"**

"My apologies, Fritz. You were saying?"

"I merely asked which tie you would prefer to wear this evening."

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**Read and review please, if you dare. **


	6. Masquerade Mutilator

A/N: I apologize for this chapter. I really do.

What follows has no connection to any other chapters in this, nor does it belong to any tangible arc I may be putting together. It's just complete and utter, undeniable crack.

For those of you who have seen the film _Benny and Joon_, this will look oddly familiar and may amuse you. To the rest of you, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

* * *

"You! Herbert! You're sick! Herbert, you need help! Let me find Alfred and we can talk about this."

"He was mine! He was mine! And if I can't have him no one can, not even you! You didn't have to wear that same dress!"

"But you're my fried, Herbert. I'm sorry about me and Alfred. We didn't mean to fall in love. It just…happened. Let's just forget about it okay? There'll be other parties, other midnight swims, other ball gowns. No! Herbert! No Herbert! Nooooo!"

The high feminine scream was paired with chilling maniacal laughter. Alfred had heard enough. He rushed out from hiding only to find Sarah and Herbert standing opposite each other, wearing identical ruby red, crystal encrusted, off-the-shoulder ball gowns. In his hands, Herbert held a pair of scissors and the chopped up remains of a sponge. Sarah's eyes were filled with heartbroken tears.

At just that moment, the bedroom door burst open and Count von Krolock came barreling into the room.

"Now, son, that's quite enough."

The Count and Alfred shared a momentary look. The arrival of Count von Krolock seemed to pacify Herbert and, with an arm around his son's shoulders, he was able to lead Herbert quietly from the room.

Alfred wanted nothing more than to turn on his heel and leave the room without a word, hoping that what he had just witnessed was but a nasty dream. Instead he approached Sarah and sat with her on the bed, the pieces of the defeated sponge in her arms. She sniffed thickly and stroked the remnants of her sponge. Alfred began to reach to take her hand when Sarah said, "I don't want to talk about it."

Alfred nodded. After a moment of silence broken only by an occasional mournful sniff from Sarah, Alfred sat up straight with an idea. He reached into his pocket. He knew it must be somewhere. Where….? Aha! He pulled it out, the sponge she had given him when they first met. He held it out to her without a word. She looked at the offering tentatively for a moment and then snatched it from him, like an oft denied child, clutching it to her chest.

Sarah squealed softly in gratitude and threw her arms around Alfred's neck. They'd have to share the sponge now, but Alfred felt he wouldn't mind that much.

* * *

A/N: Did I mention I'm sorry?

Please R&R, and I promise to have something slightly less insane next time.


	7. On Drunken Folly

A/N: I don't own any characters, although I do love tormenting poor Alfred. I'll put him back where I found him though, promise.

I've been away for a while, but I finally finished this. Little one shot, like all the others, although this may become part of a slight arc that I'm putting together, involving Alfred and Herbert.

_Synopsis_: Alfred indulges a little too much a vampiric get together, and Herbert sees an opportunity to take advantage. But will he actually follow through?

* * *

Alfred didn't have much experience with alcohol. This much became more and more apparent as the night dragged on. Herbert often felt that these little soirees of his father's were quite dull, but he found himself mildly entertained on this night, watching the fledgling vampire coping with the unfamiliar revelry with copious doses of self-prescribed liquid courage. After his first, second, eighth glass of wine, it became clear to Herbert that Alfred couldn't hold his liquor in a bucket with a mule to do the heavy lifting.

Even more entertaining was the discovery that Alfred was a deceptively flirtatious drunk. Throughout the night, Alfred flitted from one vampire to another, chatting charmingly with man and woman alike, many of whom responded to his coquetry with either mild amusement or utter indifference.

Sarah stood watching nearby, arms crossed in an irritated huff, disapproval written all over her face. Herbert scoffed quietly to himself over her hypocrisy. The young wench was quite the flirt herself, dallying with his father while romancing Alfred . The only difference was that she had acted the tease in the midst of cold sobriety, while Alfred's flirtations were the product of his overindulgence in the vintage.

A flurry of gasps and a mild crash brought Herbert's attention back to Alfred. It seemed Alfred had overbalanced and collided with a server, whose tray of drinks had fallen to the floor, spreading wine and broken glass all over the aged marble. The patrons of the bar seemed more affronted at the disturbance of their comatose revery than anything else, as Alfred scrambled haphazardly to assist the server in cleaning up the mess. He stumbled awkwardly, swayed as though light-headed, and Herbert could see what would come next. The nobleman pushed his way through the crowd and crossed the ballroom just in time to prevent Alfred from hitting his head on the tile floor as he lost consciousness. Paying no heed to the look of shock frozen on Sarah's face, Herbert hauled the insensible boy into his arms and exited the ballroom.

Herbert thought for a moment of taking Alfred to the crypt, but a wanton thought turned him toward his bedroom. As they traversed the corridors of the castle, Herbert could not help but smile a bit at the poor boy's situation. He knew that , once he came around, Alfred would be thoroughly embarrassed about his antics, if he even remembered anything at all. It would take a large amount of coaxing to convince him to surface once more, and even then, Herbert knew Alfred would likely keep apologizing for his behavior until every vampire in the castle threatened to stake him if he didn't stop.

They had nearly reached their destination when Herbert felt Alfred begin to stir in his arms. A small hand curiously fingered a stray lock of hair that had fallen loose before Herbert's eyes. "You have rather pretty hair."

The silky strand slipped from Alfred's grasp, and his hand wandered lazily to Herbert's face. Herbert's eyes clamped shut as the fingers trailed over his cheek, and he could feel every groove in the fingertips. Herbert opened his eyes.

Alfred let his hand fall, as the act of holding his hand up apparently became too strenuous. They had reached the bedroom by this time, and Herbert unceremoniously kicked the door open. Without bothering to turn down the bed, he settled Alfred lightly on top of the coverlet, with all the gentleness of a parent putting an exhausted child to bed.

"Such nice clothes, too," a small voice said. Alfred had stirred again and was now looking down at his own attire. "This is very nice. May I borrow it?"

"Certainly." Herbert smiled as he gently eased Alfred out of his evening jacket. He had relished the sight of the youth in medieval blue tails and cream silk waistcoat and cravat. He had allowed Alfred to assume that Sarah had chosen his attire for the evening, because he knew it made the boy happy, when in truth, Herbert had arranged Alfred's evening clothes himself.

Herbert had unabashedly enjoyed dressing Alfred as though the latter was his own personal doll, and he had imagined undressing the lad would be infinitely more enjoyable. Herbert warned himself, however, not to go to far, for Alfred would most assuredly have an apoplectic fit if he woke from his stupor and found himself completely stripped. Herbert carefully removed Alfred's cravat and laid it and the evening jacket in careful piles on the edge of the bed. He was undoing the buttons of Alfred's collar, when he realized that Alfred had slipped back into unconsciousness.

The boy moaned senselessly in his sleep and tossed his head to the side, revealing the pale expanse of his neck and a pronounced jugular. Clearly that wench Sarah had been keeping Alfred busy. The thought gave Herbert a pang of momentary jealousy. But the sight of Alfred exposed in the dim light distracted him from this emotional pain and drew him mercilessly toward a physical one.

Herbert's palms itched, and thirst burned his tongue. He smiled and traced his finger along Alfred's collarbone, up his neck, following the line of the vein toward his jaw and up to his temple, twisting his finger into a curl. Alfred shuddered. Herbert instinctively leaned in toward the precious vein, drawn to the scent of blood.

There were no words in any tongue known to man that could describe the blood-lust that burned his throat like ice and made his whole body ache in such a way that the undead should never feel. His tongue was dry and his heart aflame. He bore his teeth and a low growl escaped his throat as he lowered his lips to Alfred's throat. Then the boy moaned again, and Herbert stopped.

_"Sarah…."_

Herbert's eyes closed, and his head hung slightly. Long had he wanted Alfred in his bed, to taste of his fresh, youthful blood. True, the girl Sarah had done the deed of turning the boy, but now the opportunity lay before him to take what he desired without protestation. Nevertheless, Herbert found he could not bring himself to take advantage. He still wanted the boy to be sure, but now he wanted more. He wanted the boy conscious when he took him in his arms, to be willingly taken to bed. More than his blood now, Herbert wanted his heart.

With a sigh, Herbert settled back in his chair and willed his lust to abandon him. He put his hand to Alfred's forehead, brushed a curl from his eyes, and watched over him as he slept off the evening.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are muse feed.


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